What's Your Recipe?
by Doodled93
Summary: John is a surprisingly good cook, Moriarty finds out, and Sherlock is annoyed at having all his leftovers stolen. Add John cooking something he ought not have, and John's troubles truly begin. Sherlock says they started when Moriarty first stole the pasta sauce. M just in case, T if there wasn't mild cannibalism. Featuring BAMF!John and blogging to the extreme.
1. part 1 of 3

What's your Recipe?

Based off of "You are what you eat" By flawedamythyst on

Also, have made a reference to another story, the bit about fingers in a locked room, if anyone can name the fic then I'll give them a written prize of some sort. Smut; short story; fluff; a prompt; whatever. Certain scene in another of my stories too, I guess :-)

Goal was for one chapter/one-shot, but I think I'll be splitting this up into two or three if I can get to a proper ending.

Also warnings for mild cannibalism (can you even say that? '_Mild_ Cannibalism'?)… Also Sherlock's mind. Also swearing to a degree.

Should this be M?

John opened the fridge door and noticed that it was one of the rare instances that Sherlock had done the shopping.

He'd been doing it at irregular intervals since John had carelessly mentioned that if anything he should have known Sherlock was up to something when he offered to do the shopping, all those weeks ago.

Of all the things he'd said that night for Sherlock to take offence to, of course it would be the suggestion that anything Sherlock did could be even remotely typical/predictable/_boring_ that finally convinced him to do the shopping. Barely fazed at being reamed out for being stupid enough to think it smart to go after Moriarty alone, but at the first hint that Sherlock would do something that made him predictable in a way that would impair his stealth and deflection skills and render him even remotely boring, and he was up in a huff for an entire week before being insufferably smug by surprising John with groceries.

Of course, this sporadic surprise shopping trips meant every once in a while John would come home from Tesco's to find that Sherlock had already stocked up the fridge and the pantry labeled "NO EXPERIMENTS".

It was nice, and John had already started to notice when Sherlock was thinking of doing one of his supposedly random shopping trips (Sherlock rifling through the fridge and pantry and then pretending not to find what he was looking for, the slight stilling when John casually mentioned that they needed more beans/milk/sugar/etc…) even though Sherlock had the shopping habits of a first-year university student away from home of over buying things. This usually meant John also had to sort through the number of impulse buys to make sure nothing spoiled, but he was getting rather good at it as well as making sure not to shop when Sherlock was planning one of his shopping surprise attacks.

John didn't consider it an attack, but from the smug looks Sherlock threw him when he opened the milk Sherlock had bought, a look so childish it practically screamed "Hah! Look who's predictable NOW?" John could hardly believe Sherlock thought the same.

It was an attack on the notion that Sherlock could be boring, perhaps.

John wasn't going to argue it, even if that meant that there would be seven different kinds of beans in the pantry (your list is so imprecise! Just "beans" is not good enough!), or the fact that at one point there was skimmed, partly skimmed, homogenized, and whole milk in the fridge. At once.

But at least it meant that if Sherlock left one out and it went bad that there were usually at least one or two more left to choose from.

John had ceased his complaints about what Sherlock put in the fridge when he'd finally agreed that anything that could potentially contaminate the food in the fridge would be put into plastic containers with red lids, same with keeping experiments from the pantry. Sherlock had agreed to look into a small fridge/freezer for the larger experiments, though John was still waiting for him to finally choose one to his satisfaction.

It was still a struggle about what was okay to be left in the bathroom sink, but John thought he could eek out a compromise at some point.

John got out the fixings for a simple dinner for himself (Sherlock was in the middle of a small case), and satisfied himself that things were settling down some.

Sherlock strode into the living room.

"Moriarty's been here."

John tensed at the name.

"What?!"

"He's stolen the leftovers from the fridge and moved everything around." Sherlock sounded so outraged it took a moment for the words to catch up in John's understanding.

John had gotten half out of his chair, and paused at that.

"…Sorry, and how do you know this is Moriarty then?" John didn't think a criminal mastermind would steal into their house to filch leftovers and move around Sherlock's experiments.

Sherlock gestured wildly in John's direction, and a small crumpled piece of paper hit his chest. Giving Sherlock a Look, John smoothed it out.

_Felt like stopping by for a visit_

_Helped myself_

_Hope you don't mind. ;-)_

_xxx_

_M._

John looked over the note for anything else, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

Moriarty didn't honestly think he'd get to Sherlock by stealing their leftovers, did he? John could admit he was a bit freaked out that Moriarty had had the time to peruse their kitchen—had been in their flat at all—but John likely would've ended up eating most of those leftovers himself.

But looking at Sherlock's face had his smile freezing on his face.

"You aren't honestly bothered by this are you? This is hardly a threatening note."

He moved past Sherlock to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Huh.

He felt his eyebrows rise at the lack of blue-lidded Tupperware containers in the fridge. Sherlock had said he'd taken the leftovers, but somehow he hadn't quite believed him.

Sherlock made a displeased noise behind him.

"He took my Risotto and my Stroganoff. AND the entire container of spaghetti sauce you made up for later."

His tone was so honestly put out that John had to turn to stare at him.

Sherlock digestion-is-a-waste-of-time-and-energy Holmes was complaining about having food that was mostly eaten by John stolen from him.

"Sorry, are you _actually_ upset about this? Because I can hardly get you to eat once a day, how can you possibly get upset by this?"

Though it was a funny situation, John had a moment of unease at the thought that Moriarty was watching them enough to know something that John had even missed.

He turned away from John with a huff and strode back into the living room to flop onto the couch.

"The _entire container_ of sauce John. I do eat you know, and your cooking is… passable."

John could see past enough of Sherlock's bullshit that he could see more than a hint of sulking, reluctant praise in that comment.

Well, he guessed his mum's cooking lessons stuck well enough then even in half-remembered recipes and improvisation.

"Thank you, I guess…"

A sudden thought had him searching the cupboards with a curse.

"He took the Tupperware containers?"

"Of course John. I told you he took the leftovers!"

"That's not the point. I guess I hadn't realized he'd taken the containers they were in as well…" He checked the sink, even though he knew it was strangely empty from a glance earlier, vainly hoping for even dirty containers.

While not expensive, John didn't want to have to buy more Tupperware containers. He'd bought a number of packs of varying sizes so that Sherlock would have no excuse not to use the red-lidded ones, but that left John with very few containers left for more leftovers.

"_Priorities John!"_

John sighed, even if some part of him was pleased that Sherlock liked his cooking.

He would have to stop by Tesco's tomorrow to grab another pack.

He doubted Moriarty would be returning them if he ever did come again.

And didn't that idea present more problems in itself.

Moriarty ended up making as much of a habit to come and steal leftovers as Sherlock did with shopping.

It was a surprise when Sherlock had woken him up one morning to throw cleaned Tupperware at his wall, and throw another note at his chest—"He's done it _again_!"—before storming back downstairs to flop on the couch with a swirl of his robe. John assumed he'd find him in a right sulk.

_Thanks for dinner ;-)_

_xxx_

_M._

John wasn't entirely sure whether he should be more amused or worried that a psychotic criminal mastermind seemed to like his cooking—or did he? He could have just binned it and done it again to bother Sherlock—so he settled for cautiously bemused at Sherlock's sulking.

One good thing that came from it was that Sherlock seemed to be eating more, trying to finish off the leftovers so there was nothing to take.

Of course John usually took leftovers for his lunches when he could, so this resulted in him making larger batches, which meant Sherlock wouldn't be able to finish all of the leftovers before Moriarty's next 'strike'.

Which meant that Sherlock stayed on his actually eating regularly schedule while complaining to John about his horrid habit of overcooking.

It wasn't a habit if it was intentional, he was tempted to say, but Sherlock was finally gaining some healthy weight.

When he'd mentioned it to Greg one night at the pub his friend had just shook his head at him and declared he wasn't going to try to get into whatever mind games were happening there if it didn't pose a threat to the public.

John asked, half-joking, if he'd do anything if he reported the breaking-and-entering robbery. Greg hardly pondered the question for a moment before responding.

"Not our division."

After what John had been privately titled "The Great Game" situation, he didn't blame him for wanting to keep out of whatever games the two were playing, especially the ones Moriarty started.

But aside from a slightly raised food bill, there wasn't much harm in this…whatever it was between Moriarty and Sherlock.

Of course it was still worrying that Moriarty was getting into their flat so often (or sending someone else to do it? That was only slightly less worrying), but Mycroft had shown up to make it known that he was working on it.

That visit had put Sherlock in an even bigger huff than he was in before, because his barbs about Mycroft's weight were taken with a raised eyebrow and a returned comment on Sherlock's now nearly healthy weight.

John had given Mycroft a Look that told him exactly how much John approved of Sherlock being sent into an even deeper sulk than he was already in.

John was getting to the point where he was considering just making up a separate container for Moriarty's leftovers (and wasn't that an odd thought), but was held back by the thought of what that would result in.

Sherlock would find out and tamper with Moriarty's food. Moriarty would likely figure it out and switch it for Sherlock's food. Sherlock would take John's food, sulking, and John wouldn't know until a few bites in that something was wrong.

John had only ever had food poisoning once in his life, after a family trip when he was 12, and he didn't fancy repeating the experience with something Sherlock cooked up for Moriarty.

Another thing that happened as a result of Moriarty stealing leftovers and leaving Cleaned Tupperware and mocking notes behind was the nearly startling speed in which Sherlock was solving cases.

Sherlock didn't eat during cases, but John did, which meant there were leftovers for Moriarty to take.

This was apparently Unacceptable.

Sherlock's solution was to finish cases at nearly half the time it would normally take.

He'd nearly run himself so ragged during a particularly difficult case that John had to promise to only make food enough for himself until the case was done. Mycroft had even kidnapped him to tell him that a deposit would be placed in his bank for him to buy himself lunches until the case was finished, and similar deposits would be made if any case took longer than a week.

John honestly thought that the lengths Sherlock was going to so that Moriarty wouldn't get their leftovers was fairly ridiculous, and had said as much to Mycroft.

"I have to admit that I'm curious as to how impressive your culinary skills must be for Sherlock to go to such… lengths. It could be the principal of the matter, but Sherlock has never been one to eat as regularly as he has been simply to prove a point."

John had to agree with him, and resigned himself to catering his lunches to the cases.

It wasn't like he wasn't working off the take-out during those weeks.

John opened the fridge and noticed that Sherlock had stopped at a butcher and gotten them two steaks along with the groceries. He took that as a hint and took out the brown paper-wrapped parcel to get ready for dinner.

Sherlock rarely expressed his opinion on what he'd like John to cook that for the most part John had to figure out his favorites based on how vehemently he'd complain about certain leftovers going missing.

Disturbingly enough John was also figuring out Moriarty's favorites, if Moriarty was indeed eating the meals. Both he and Sherlock were rather fond about his spaghetti sauce, and the look Sherlock had given him when he'd pulled an ice-cream container of the stuff from Mrs. Hudson's fridge was like Christmas had come early.

Or as if a dozen amputated hands were found in a room placed as if at the points of a clock, the room locked from the inside, of course.

John sighed to himself, wondering if it was a sign of Sherlock's mark on him that he could come up with situations like that in the first place.

Luckily they were between cases, so Sherlock was likely to actually eat with John that night.

The steaks were cooking rather oddly, and John poked at the seasoned meat wondering if he'd mistaken beef for pork, adjusting the heat so he wouldn't risk over or undercooking it.

Later that night he set a plate in front of Sherlock, digging into his own plate.

He'd deviated from what he remembered from his mum's instructions, but it turned out fairly well.

"When did you buy steaks?"

John looked at Sherlock, faintly puzzled.

"Didn't you buy them?"

John had a moment to feel the bottom of his stomach drop at the thought that Moriarty had actually left the steaks before he saw dawning comprehension on Sherlock's face.

"Ah." Sherlock went silent, lips pursing as he looked down at his plate. A little more than half his steak was done.

"Ah?" John had stopped eating and looked down at his own plate. He'd eaten a little less than half his portion, and wondered if he should possibly be inducing vomiting now.

"Is it chemical? For God's sake Sherlock I thought we'd agreed you'd label these things…"

"It's not chemical…"

John didn't continue eating. Set down his cutlery with a muffled _clack_ on the wooden tabletop. There was obviously something wrong with the steaks, even if they weren't deadly, and he wanted to know if he had inadvertently cooked up something Sherlock had been intending on studying/experimenting on.

"Well what is it then?"

"I went shopping after I'd stopped by the morgue."

"And?"

Sherlock gave him a level look.

"I went shopping. After I stopped by the morgue."

John blinked at him, and slowly felt the colour draining from his face.

"The morgue, John."

John would have mentioned something about having gotten that, thanks, but he was too busy rushing to the toilet.

After a couple of moments, John spat bile from his mouth, and had mouthwash in hand as he gave Sherlock a look to show just how Unimpressed he was.

"The morgue Sherlock? Human _steaks_, wrapped in brown paper, not labeled? From the _Morgue_?" John asked, spitting mouthwash into the sink.

He didn't answer.

John groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"Get rid of it."

"But John—"

"I don't want to see or hear about it again, Sherlock." His tone spoke that this was non-negotiable.

Sherlock pursed his lips again, before turning and heading to the kitchen.

John sighed and left to find a bottle of something—vodka, whisky, rum, he didn't care—and thought he was more than a little justified of a day off tomorrow after this.

Of all the crazy things he got into with Sherlock, cannibalism wasn't ever something he'd considered.

"JOHN!"

John winced and buried his head in his pillow, hoping but not believing that Sherlock would leave him be for another 10 minutes.

"_JOHN!"_ Sherlock threw the door open, stopping it from hitting the door in a bang only because they'd already had a Talk about that. With a sigh John propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Sherlock would complain about whatever it was (likely another Moriarty theft) for as long as he deemed necessary to make sure John knew just how _displeased_ he was.

And it would be longer if he thought John wasn't paying enough attention.

"He's done it _again_! He's one too far John! Something _must be done_!"

If it weren't early, John might wonder at how Sherlock manages to sound so shocked and offended each time Moriarty manages to steal leftovers, and as it was, John settled down for a variation on Sherlock's other rants.

It was a good couple of minutes into the rant, with much gesturing and pacing the length of John's room, that John realized something.

Hadn't they just finished a two-week long case?

It took another couple of minutes for John to fully comprehend and remember the meal he worked so hard to forget, the only one he'd cooked that week outside of reheating take-out.

He felt a strange look overtake his face as he stared long and hard at Sherlock, still gesticulating violently to the room at large, enough that Sherlock stopped for a moment then hesitated and stared.

"…John?"

John didn't keep any mirrors in his room, so he didn't know that the look on his face was one that Sherlock hadn't seen before, it was so strange on his face.

He took in the facial queues he's long categorized and placed in John's admittedly large mental file, and came up with a strange mix of horror, amusement, nausea, and the manic enjoyment that Sherlock got to see when he was particularly brilliant in front of John or after a more difficult case.

"John…?" Sherlock repeated, and watched as John closed his eyes momentarily, in the even, smooth movement that meant he was gathering up patience to explain something that he thought Sherlock was being slow about.

Sherlock wasn't ever slow, but he was so thrown by the manic gleam of John's Isn't-Sherlock-being-brilliant? look so soon followed by John's I-need-a-moment-to-think-of-how-to-explain-this-horribly-obvious-thing-to-Sherlock look.

"… What, _exactly_, was it that Moriarty took this time?"

Ah.

"Ah." Sherlock said it again, because John seemed to take comfort in Sherlock making such things audible, though John didn't look satisfied with that short response.

In Sherlock's rush to complain to John's sympathetic ear, he'd forgotten (deleted) the fact that John had asked him to throw out the previous night's dinner.

But he'd not let John see it (he'd even moved the leftovers to a red-topped container), and he'd not mentioned it directly since John had mentioned not wanting to hear bout it again.

Sherlock supposed that keeping the leftovers was the Not Good part, but really, what did John expect? It certainly wasn't Sherlock's fault that John had an uncanny ability to make food that seemed more than just a burden to eat, and with the leftover war he was having with Moriarty, there was no way he was giving up some of John's cooking that Moriarty would never be able to try.

John certainly wouldn't cook human flesh again, and though he'd been momentarily annoyed at having the flesh used before he could experiment, the novel experience of eating something so unusual had kept him interested enough not to mind. What had John done to it to make it so damnably tasty?

But now Moriarty had taken the leftovers, and Sherlock was more than a bit upset.

Couldn't John let go of this for a moment to focus on what was important?

A glance said no.

John raised his eyebrows, still obviously waiting for an answer. Sherlock stayed silent, pursing his lips.

"Sherlock."

"You said you didn't want to hear about it again…"

"_Sherlock_."

John finally wrote a blog post about what was happening after he'd finished writing up the most recent case, feeling ridiculous.

He couldn't quite bring himself to post something along the lines of "_So Sherlock and his Arch-Nemesis (_not_ his brother) are having an all out war, because his A-N keeps stealing the leftovers from the fridge, and yeah, I mentioned Sherlock doesn't eat enough, but apparently he enjoys my cooking, so how about that?_"

So he drew it out a bit and tried to make it sound as not-crazy as he could, decidedly NOT mentioning any specifics to the small cannibalistic episode they'd had.

He kept that part of the equation to a small endnote and resolved to leave it at that.

_Though, I have to admit that the latest leftovers that have been stolen are likely to be a bit of a surprise, not the usual fare you might imagine it to be. He certainly won't be able to guess the secret ingredient of this one._

And then he posted it.

COMMENTS TO POST "_**Recipe for Disaster**_" (17)

_**Harry**_: LOL u little housewife u ;) u always were a better cook than me :D What recipe u use?

_John_: You're just jealous you never could remember mum's unwritten brownie recipe. And not telling and likely will never ever make it again. Huge mistake.

_**Turner**_: Oh I didn't know you cooked dear! This is Mrs. Hudson by the way, I'm still using Ms. Turner's computer.

_**SH**_: It's passable. Why did you make a post about this John? Ridiculous.

_John_: It's still strange that you don't just tell me these to my face when we're in the same room! And Mrs. Hudson, you're welcome to dinner any time. Stroganoff tonight if you're interested.

_**SH**_: John!

_John_: I can hear you fine Sherlock. I don't cook just for you.

_**Anonymous**_: What's your recipe?

_**Sxygurl78**_: lol XD yeah whats ur recipeys must b gud 2 get taht much ettention lol ^-^

_**SH**_: Your spelling is atrocious and painful to read.

_**TheImprobableOne**_: indeed.

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_John_: Harry! Language! And I'm not giving that particular recipe, though I might post my spaghetti sauce recipe. That seems popular.

_**Harry**_: Don't go giving away all our family recipes bro ;) but that's a good one, I haven't had that one in ages.

_**SH**_: John!

_**Turner**_: I'll be over tonight then. Sherlock behave! I don't want to see any more holes in my wall. This is still Mrs. Hudson by the way.

_John_: I can still hear you Sherlock. And see you tonight Mrs. Hudson.

COMMENTS TO POST "_**Simple Spaghetti**_" (26)

_**TheImprobableOne**_: this was rather good.

_**SH**_: How's the diet coming along?

_**TheImprobableOne**_: this is well within my diet, thank you.

_John_: Sherlock, be nice. I'm glad you liked it; it's only a bit different than the recipe my mum used.

_**Harry**_: Fuck John! You certainly made it better! I don't remember mum's cooking ever being this good! :P

_**Mike S**_: This is pretty delicious, mate. I think you were holing out on us during uni :)

_John_: I wasn't holding anything back, I just didn't have any time to make something like this in between studying, or else I was out with the usual lot drinking. And Harry, language.

_**Anonymous**_: It's amazing someone like you could devise something like this.

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_John_: Harry, this is a public blog, watch your language. Also, someone like me? Not sure how I'm to take that. But there was no devising. It's all in the ingredients you use.

_**Anonymous**_: Any more recipes to share then, Johnny Boy?

_**SH**_: John, don't you dare reward A's insults.

_**Turner**_: Oh, last night's dinner was wonderful! I'll have to try making this some time. This is Mrs. Hudson again, Ms. Turner said I could use her computer.

_John_: Sherlock you regularly insult me, and I still feed you, you hypocrite. And I might put up more recipes if I feel like sitting down and writing more out again. It's surprising how long this post ended up being, considering I usually cook from memory.

_**Anonymous**_: You can't possibly mean for me to believe you could keep all that in your funny little head, Johnny Boy.

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_John_: Harry! And Sherlock, I've definitely heard worse (often from you), there's no need for all that.

_**TheImprobableOne**_: i find it rather surprising myself that you cook from memory rather than by recipe, john.

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_**SH**_: John, you shouldn't have deleted that one, it was rather good.

_**TheImprobableOne**_: your sisters' grasp on vulgarity is rather impressive, if oftentimes physically impossible.

_**Harry**_: Ponce. John, I'm sending a link up to mum, expect a teary phone call :P

_John_: Harry, mum doesn't like using the computer so she'll likely not be able to open it.

_**Harry**_: Isn't it convenient then that I'm going to visit her this weekend ;)

_John_: Harry!

John glared half-heartedly at Sherlock from across the room as he picked up more papers.

Bills; letters; case requests; junk mail; notes; everything was strewn about. They'd gotten back from Angelo's after finishing their latest case (The case of the Twenty-Thousand Pound Goose, as John planned on calling it on his blog) to find that someone had ransacked their flat, obviously searching through their papers.

Sherlock had been offended that his cluttered filing system (read: piles of loose paper on various flat surfaces) had been "messed up", and had forced John to stay in the doorway as he looked around for clues as to what they were looking for.

John let him have his way, and had moved to start cleaning the mess when Sherlock finished muttering to himself and flopped onto the couch, hands pressed in a praying position under his chin.

He'd been like tat for the past hour.

John had left three significantly neater stacks of loose papers on the small table by the couch for Sherlock to 'organize' for himself later, and was still busy picking up papers and putting them to their proper place.

Whoever had done it had gone through each room of the house, even the kitchen.

John sighed to himself when he finally set the last room, his own, to rights. Now things were much more organized than they had been, by John's forced reorganization of all loose papers in the flat, but John resented that there was need for such a clean-up in the first place.

It didn't help that Sherlock had done nothing to help.

It was for that reason John left Sherlock's room on it's own.

"Ah…"

Sherlock suddenly sat up, and looked at John from over the back of the couch.

"Moriarty did it."

John huffed out a breath.

"You know, Moriarty isn't the cause of every mishap in our lives. You can't just go around blaming him any time it's convenient."

Though, John had to admit, it would be easier to place all the blame on the criminal mastermind, but John didn't think that rifling through all their papers would be high on the man's list.

If he had a list, that is.

"Moriarty has been reading your blog, he was the commenter Anonymous, he couldn't believe that you could cook from memory, despite the cameras he likely has trained on the flat, so he had our flat raided to see where you hide your recipes, obviously." Sherlock scoffed to himself, and drew his face into an elegant pout.

Then flopped back dramatically to lounge on the cushions.

Sometimes John thought Sherlock would be more appropriate as a Victorian lady with the sheer amount of histrionics he puts on.

But as he thought, he did remember feeling uneasy about the Anonymous commenter. He didn't like being called Johnny, let alone Johnny Boy, and to be called that, with the tone of the commenters writing… well, it put him slightly on edge.

He wasn't entirely convinced, but decided that he might as well do something to maybe prevent this from happening again.

So Moriarty didn't believe he could cook by memory? Didn't believe that he could remember the ingredients, the proportion, the measurements the cooking times?

He wrote a quick post and went by the window facing the street to start writing up his Stroganoff recipe shortly after.

The curtains were opened, and he glanced down at the CCTV cameras and shook his head.

The recipe was eventually out, as useful instructions as he could manage, and he immediately posted it.

"_**Doubts for the Doctor"**_

_So I'm getting some doubt that I can remember all my recipes, some a bit more disbelieving than I'd like. So I'm going to sit down now and write out my stroganoff recipe. As soon as I'm done I'll post it immediately after this one._

_As to how you'll know I actually did this? You'll believe me or not, or you'll figure out some way to find out if I'm telling the truth. Sherlock was in the room with me last time criticizing my typing skill (or lack there-of)._

_Perhaps Sherlock will vouch for me (unlikely), or else he'll stick to moaning and sulking about me sharing my recipes with the internet._

_Either way, by popular demand I'll be posting another recipe._

COMMENTS TO POST "_**Simple Stroganoff**_" (50)

_**SH**_: Your blog titles are getting repetitive. Also it took you a horrendous amount of time to type that out.

_John_: Recipe titles don't have to be all that attractive or unique. It's stroganoff. It's a simple recipe. And you've said before I'm no typist. Stop repeating yourself.

_**Harry**_: u going to post the brownie recipe next? :)

_John_: What would I get you for your birthday then, if you could make those when you wanted?

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_John_: :)

_**SH**_: John, you haven't made any of these brownies before. Make some for me.

_John_: No.

_**SH**_: Why not?

_John_: Because of what is liquefying in the only dessert pan we have, whatever is growing in the measuring cups, and because you have been complaining enough about the amount of weight you've gained that I don't need to hear more of.

_**EatnSweet**_: Ooh, this is delish! Loving the recipes! Keep them up!

_**TheImprobableOne**_: you surprise me once again john. you should really reconsider.

_John_: Because I've said no to the e-mails you've been forwarding me? I'm not a cook. No books. No contracts.

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_**Harry**_: XD He's funny

_John_: Sherlock. Don't. I'm sure he's being thoughtful, even if I don't appreciate being spammed by contracts and deals from publishers. Harry, don't encourage him.

_**TheImprobableOne**_: i believe you should reconsider some of those offers

_**Anonymous**_: Trying to get all of Johnny Boy's secret recipes?

_**TheImprobableOne**_: simply looking to share his talents with others

_**SH**_: At least he isn't stealing leftovers from our fridge. Unlike someone I know.

_**Anonymous**_: What ever could you mean by that? ;)

_**SH**_: Leave my food alone

_John_: Your food?

_**Anonymous**_: xxx

_**SH**_: Yes John, do keep up.

_**Anonymous**_: What's your recipe?

_John_: Um, posted above. Thought that part was rather obvious, really.

_**SH**_: He doesn't mean that one. Obviously.

_**Anonymous**_: Of the dinner Sherlock hid in one of his red-topped containers.

_John_: Well there's confirmation that I could have done without.

_**SH**_: Don't answer him, John.

_**Anonymous**_: Well, Johnny Boy?

_**SH**_: Don't.

_**SH**_: DON'T.

_**SH**_: John, I forbid you from responding.

_**SH**_: John?

_John_: salt, pepper, lemon rind, paprika, and butter, rub it into the meat and cook.

_**SH**_: JOHN!

_**Anonymous**_: We all know whom the real favorite is now, don't we? ;) xxx

_John_: If this is the reason you keep bothering me, then I'll gladly give the recipe for you to bugger off.

_**Anonymous**_: Why Johnny Boy, I'm deeply hurt. I thought we had a little something when you hugged me at the pool.

_**Harry**_: What!?

_John_: That was certainly not a hug.

_**Anonymous**_: ;P xoxo

_**Harry**_: What? Is this guy stalking u?

_**SH**_: Of course.

_John_: Don't mind Sherlock, he's being ridiculous.

_**SH**_: And yet we still have someone breaking into our home to steal leftovers. That same someone is commenting on your blog. Anonymously, of course.

_**SH**_: And I'M the one being called ridiculous.

_**Anonymous**_: ;) xxx

And Part 2 will be out when I can get to it.

What do you think?

~Doodled93~


	2. Part 2 of 3

Part 2

John sighed and placed an ice pack on his ribs, getting rather annoyed with geniuses lately.

ALL of them.

Sherlock was in a rather large huff due to Moriarty and a lack of cases, Mycroft was still forwarding e-mails with increasingly enthusiastic and desperate sounding publishers, and Moriarty would just not bugger off.

This was the fourth kidnap attempt that week, and though they hadn't tried to tranq him this time (probably learning from how confidently and quickly he was to use it on his attackers), he was feeling rather tired of fending off hired thugs.

It happened often enough with the usual cases with Sherlock that he didn't need the increase of thuggery in his day-to-day life.

He didn't need it at all, but he'd long since resigned himself to the fact that Sherlock had a special skill in pissing off people, and used that skill regularly.

The fact that he somehow managed to get this attention himself was frustrating.

It didn't help that anything that might be considered 'interesting' had slowed to a lull, and while John was happy to see that the police force wouldn't have to resort to Sherlock's particular brand of genius, it meant that Sherlock was going stir crazy.

John was going Sher-crazy.

Certainly crazy enough to think of something like that in the first place.

Crazy enough to finally break down and make the brownies (which yes, he also changed the recipe to), and now Sherlock was hovering over them protectively like he thought that perhaps Moriarty would pop out of the pantry and steal them during the day.

John was almost worried that Sherlock would stay up the whole night to protect them.

Almost, because he wasn't feeling particularly worried for Sherlock in his annoying stages of boredom, and also because Sherlock had slept the previous night out of sheer boredom, and so he could go a good couple of nights without sleep without hallucinating again.

On top of the kidnapping attempts, there had also been a string of murders, all with only two things connecting them. Six so far.

One being that they all lived in, or within easy driving distance to London.

Two being that they're all chefs.

Will Hoyte.

Avery Tate.

Sam Younge.

Oscar Ubeski.

Rachel Reachmont.

Esker Carrow.

Sherlock blamed Moriarty.

John didn't want to believe it, but Sherlock had written out the names for him, first and last names in list format.

Will

Hoyte

Avery

Tate.

Sam

Younge

Oscar

Ubeski

Rachel

Reachmont.

Esker

Carrow

Sherlock thought that the next chef targeted would be Igor Palinkov. And then someone whose name started with an E.

WHATSYOURRECIPE.

What's your recipe?

John sighed and tried his best to imagine a life where this wasn't possible. Where this was likely only a bad plotline from a low grade mystery novella, where a killer targets chefs to prove just how desperate he is to figure out a secret recipe.

He tried, succeeded, and then imagined that regardless of how nice it seemed, he would also never be able to live that life, if only because he'd pull his hair out for the boringness of it all.

Later, when they catch the killer, James Morrissey, before he gets at Palinkov, John thinks that wasn't it convenient for Moriarty to sign with his initials.

JM.

At least this note didn't end with xxx.

COMMENTS TO POST "_**XXX**_" (75)

_John_: If I take this down again, you're just going to repost it, aren't you?

_**Anonymous**_: Your passwords are so predictable, Johnny Boy ;)

_**Harry**_: What the fuck?

_**SH**_: If you'd let me choose your password, he wouldn't be able to get in.

_John_: Neither would I.

_**SH**_: I would let you onto you blog.

_John_: Now you aren't even putting any effort into lying right now.

_**SH**_: :(

_John_: Really, Sherlock.

_**Anonymous**_: Trouble in paradise, boys? :D

_John_: Why are you bothering to hack into my blog anyway?

_**Anonymous**_: You know the reason, Johnny Boy :)

_John_: What?

_**SH**_: :D

_John_: What?

_**SH**_: You mean you haven't figured it out yet?

_**Anonymous**_: I would, but I'm rather too busy to go on a cooking expedition.

_John_: It's still about the stupid recipe? I told you it already!

_**SH**_: Not all of it, John.

_**Harry**_: What the hell?

_John_: Seriously?

_**Anonymous**_: So why don't you tell me already?

_**SH**_: If all possible explanations are disproved, then the impossible must be true.

_John_: Sherlock.

_**TheImprobableOne**_: this seems a bit much for a recipe.

_**Anonymous**_: You haven't tried it.

_**SH**_: And aren't likely to, either. And you aren't likely going to try it again.

_**Anonymous**_: That sounds like a challenge. I will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_John_: Why is this even remotely acceptable?

_**Anonymous**_: I don't know, why don't you give me the full recipe and I'll just leave you two to your domestic bliss? Hmm?

_**SH**_: John, Don't.

_**SH**_: He won't stop if you do.

_**Anonymous**_: Yes, I will.

_**SH**_: No, he won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_**SH**_: Won't.

_**Anonymous**_: Will.

_John__**:**_ This is ridiculous.

_**TheImprobableOne**_: john, i see even your influences haven't cured sherlock of his childishness.

_John_: Says the man still sending me contracts even after I said no.

_**SH**_: MYCROFT!

_**TheImprobableOne**_: persistence is key. you should reconsider.

_**Anonymous**_: I'll be waiting, Johnny Boy.

_**SH**_: Bugger off Moriarty!

_**Anonymous**_: Ooh, Johnny Boy, changed your password to something tricky then? Surprising. Hope you didn't hurt yourself thinking it up.

_**SH**_: Trying to get in to delete that comment? :)

_**Anonymous**_: Did you help your little chef then, Sherlock?

_**SH**_: Surprisingly, No. John won't let me.

_John_: I wonder why. And no. No. And no.

_**Harry**_: No. Seriously. What the fuck?

COMMENTS TO POST "_**I Have a Doctor's Note Against Being Kidnapped**_" (60)

**Anonymous**: No. ;P xxx

_**SH**_: Bugger off already.

_**Anonymous**_: Those brownies are delicious. ;) xxx

_**Harry**_: No way! U made brownies for ur stalker and not for me?

_John_: Should it be worrying that THAT'S what you focus on, and not the repeated kidnapping attempts?

_**Harry**_: Why won't u give me the recipe? And I know ur kickass, u've kept from being kidnapped so far, keep up the good work, bro :D

_**Anonymous**_: You have managed rather well, but you'd stop having to go through this if you'd surrender the recipe. xxx

_**SH**_: Never!

_**TheImprobableOne**_: dramatic as always.

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_John_: Harry, I know you've been good these past couple of posts, but I'm getting tired of deleting your comments.

_**Harry**_: Bugger that! You're getting food-stalked by some crazy foodie and this IMPOSSIBLE one is being a right arse! Do you know this guy, John? Let me meet him and I'll punch him like I punched Jimmy Carlson in fifth grade.

_John_: The only reason why I'm keeping that one up is because the massive amount of e-mails I've been getting from him/people he works with are getting irritating. So I'm curious about the response. Also, :)

_**TheImprobableOne**_: your spelling gets more legible when incensed

_**This comment was deleted by the administration.**_

_John_: Sherlock tells me I should send you to what he says to call the D Club. I'm going to assume that's nothing sexual, because I really don't want to know about your sex life, and you haven't met Sherlock yet, so.

_**Harry**_: Tell me the address I'll find you, you pompous arse. What's the club called then?

_**SH**_: i

_**TheImprobableOne**_: really, sherlock.

_**SH**_: o. Really.

_**Anonymous**_: :D

_**SH**_: g. Bugger off. They're all mine.

_John_: Sherlock.

_**SH**_: e. John. Look. I'm eating.

_John_: That doesn't work now that I know you've been pilfering my leftovers.

_**Harry**_: You won't share? And address please. Let's see how probable it is that he's as smarmy in person as he is online.

_**SH**_: n. John, I like your sister.

_**Harry**_: ;P

_**Anonymous**_: Jimmy Carlson, John's fourth grade classmate… I wonder how well he does with food poisoning? Perhaps we could continue to test until Johnny Boy here gives up his recipe?

_**Harry**_: That's creepy. You're a creep. And threats work better when they're on people you give a damn about, and when you don't threaten to do harm to a creep.

_**SH**_: e. John, you and your sister are similar in some ways and different in others.

_**SH**_: 's. And you could punch a different Jim, Harry, and it would solve John's problem here. No, John, you may not feel guilty over either Jimmy's.

_**Anonymous**_: Don't go giving me away, Sherly.

_**SH**_: M.

_John_: Let's not taunt the psychopath, hmm?

_**SH**_: o.

_**SH**_: r.

_**Harry**_: :D

_**SH**_: i.

_**This comment was deleted by User SH.**_

_**This comment was deleted by User SH.**_

_**This comment was deleted by User SH.**_

_**This comment was deleted by User SH.**_

_**Anonymous**_: No more of that ;)

_**SH**_: How crass, hacking into my account.

_**Anonymous**_: :P

_**SH**_: Still can't hack John's then?

_**SH**_: Changing mine to his then :)

_John_: Sherlock.

_**SH**_: a

_**SH**_: r

_**SH**_: t

_**SH**_: y

_**SH**_: Hah.

_John_: And you were doing so well acting your age…

_**Harry**_: So where can I find him? Either of them, really. I broke Jimmy's jaw before I hit puberty, I bet I could do more damage now.

_John_: HARRY! Why is Mum calling me crying NOW?

_**Harry**_: Your blog is her home page now.

_**Turner**_: That nice Inspector is at the door again, should I let him up? This is still Mrs. Hudson by the way.

_John_: HARRY!

John was just pulling a batch of scones from the oven when he heard a muffled knock from the front door. Sherlock must've been tampering with the doorbell then, if whoever was at the door didn't ring it. There was a rattling noise and the soft murmur of Mrs. Hudson's voice carried up the stairs.

Fragrant steam from the scones wafted into his face and he sighed before setting the tray on a hot pad and went searching for a knife that hadn't been used to cut/dice/shift through/stab an experiment.

He could get Sherlock to agree to containers, yes, and to a cupboard and pantry space, yes, but cutlery was a hard battle yet.

He couldn't do much about it other than have a jar of alcohol for Sherlock to dump used cutlery into, but even ten Sherlock sometimes didn't put what he used in there to sterilize.

He settled for a steak-knife, and was part way through cutting the scones into triangles (his mum always said it was better to do it as a round on a tray than as squares in a dish—he'd experimented and agreed. Squares were nice, but they had a different taste, and it was more likely that part of the scone would stick to the dish), when Sherlock thundered into the kitchen, looking wildly around as his nostrils flared.

"JOHN! Hide the Scones!"

"What?"

But Sherlock was already turning to face the doorway, arms outstretched to block the way, his coat open and blocking whatever—whoever—was there.

Despite his confusion, there was a lump low in his stomach, growing upwards with equal measure of dread and hysteria.

He didn't want to, but a snort of laughter escaped his mouth just as he heard the third stair from the top squeak.

"_Really_, Sherlock, even your pet chef thinks you're being ridiculous," an Irish voice drawled.

"Buuuut…. Then again, he's being ridiculous as well, refusing to tell me the recipe."

A huff of laughter escaped his throat.

"Honestly, _that's_ what you're here about? I already told you what I used."

"Not the meat. And whatever you used wasn't at the local Tesco's."

"_Obviously_."

Sherlock moved back, arms still spread, but lower, more likely to be more useful if someone were trying to run past him. John saw Moriarty over his arm, dressed in a silvery grey suit that most likely cost more than what John spent on groceries in a week. He saw him take a deep breath and look around the flat, eyebrows raised.

"Well now at least I know why you keep him around. Now why don't we all have a seat and have some scones?"

"Never!"

John closed his eyes and sighed. Sherlock was using the same tone of voice he used when he called Mycroft fat. He was in full on 5-year-old mode.

"Come now _Sherly_, what would your dear _mummy_ say if she saw you like this?"

John raised his eyebrows.

He wondered how much childishness one kitchen could hold without having actual children in it.

"She'd say 'Don't let him take your scones!'"

John set the tray of cooling scones to the side, and dredged up patience forged from a childhood with Harry, and honed in the firey landscape of Afghanistan, and burnished in living with Sherlock Bloody Holmes and dealing with all that entails.

"Children, get out of my kitchen."

Their squabbling stopped for a moment, and both looked at him in confusion. John brought out what Harry called his Boss voice in their childhood, and later his Captain Watson voice when he joined the RAMC.

"Now."

Moriarty opened his mouth, but paused when John gave him a look.

"D'you want scones or not?"

"John!"

"Sherlock." _Not now_ said his expression, and Sherlock huffed before flouncing out of the kitchen.

As they both left, John heard:

"Well now we know who wears the pants in the relationship, now don't we?"

and

"And what's your excuse?"

John sighed and wondered how his life ever came to this.

Hope you enjoyed, one more part to go!

~Doodled93~


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